Two Archetypes in Search of a Story
by Aishuu
Summary: A crossover with Revolutionary Girl Utena. Just because Drosselmeyer is dead doesn't mean there can't be another story. A girl with amnesia stumbles into Fakir's life.
1. Chapter 1

**Two Archetypes in Search of a Story**

A Revolutionary Girl Utena/Princess Tutu crossover

_By aishuu and ekaterinn_

* * *

There was nothing more relaxing for Fakir than dangling his feet in the water, watching as Ahiru swam by with contentment. The water was cool on his toes, and balanced a sheaf of papers in his lap, daydreaming. Every now and then he would scribble down a sentence or two, to give the pretense of writing, but in truth his mind was focused on the clouds that drifted lazily above his head. 

Their story had ended well enough, he thought, not for the first time. He enjoyed this quiet life, although a part of him wished Ahiru could still talk to him. Instead, he had to make due with her quacks as he tried to interpret what she wanted.

She was quacking at him now, flapping her wings in the water and getting his ankles wet. Fakir was pretty sure she was laughing at him. So he laughed back and poked her with his big toe, which set off another round of quacks. Looking up, he realized it was getting late. If he wanted to get home to make dinner and look over his notes for class tomorrow, they would have to leave soon.

"Come on," he told her, pushing himself to his feet, "we have to get going."

Her answering quack sounded very much like an affront, but she scrambled up onto the shore anyway. They headed down the path, side-by-side. It would take them about a half an hour to walk back to his parents' house on the edge of town. His house now. He had been too terrified to go back as a child, but whatever ghosts were left in the familiar floors and walls were resting quietly now.

He knew he had gained a reputation for being "peculiar" as of late, as he eschewed most of the school's activities in favor of living with a duck. He knew that some of the girls who once had adored him thought him crazed, probably because Mytho and Rue left. The stories they were spinning about him - and he managed to hear every one through Aotoa - stated he was heartbroken, though they differed about whom he'd been in love with.

As he opened his door, he looked down at Ahiru, wishing he could tell them the truth. The strange fog of forgetfulness that had enveloped the town didn't encourage him. Instead, he would live quietly with Ahiru, keeping his promise to remain with her always.

As Fakir prepared dinner for himself, he took care to lay out a few different slices of bread for Ahiru. She was very much a bread-eating duck, though he had sometimes seen her chasing grasshoppers in the field, quacking excitedly. She had never seemed very intent on catching them however. So he kept a variety of bread in the house for her.

Tonight, he placed a slice each of white, rye and sunflower on her plate. Lighting a couple of candles first, he put his own plate down on the wooden table and sat down to eat. They ate together in comfortable silence, Ahiru being too engrossed in her bread to quack. Fakir drew out his meal, relishing the time with Ahiru and not wanting to study.

He had considered quitting dancing in favor of a career as a writer, but had decided that he had always loved ballet. He was good at it, and had a special talent. A very small part of him - one Fakir would have denied, had he known it existed - kept reminding him he had to dance because she couldn't.

His homework, an essay on _Il Ballarino,_ wasn't due until next Monday, and he felt justified in putting it off. Ahiru was being particularly lively tonight, flapping around him between nibbles of bread, and he wanted to give her his full attention.

He cleared his plate and returned to the table. Smiling at Ahiru, he gently stroked the top of her head with the tip of his fingers. Her feather were soft and still a bit damp. Immediately, she burst into a flurry of quacks that just made him smile more.

"Did you like the sunflower bread?" he asked. She nodded enthusiastically, bobbing her head up and down. "We'll get more tomorrow then," he promised.

A loud CRACK startled them both, causing Fakir to reach for his sword. Except the sword was wrapped in a bed sheet in his closet, where he had put it away. But some part of him was still on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "Shh," he told Ahiru, who looked likely to exhaust herself with her nervous flapping, "it's only thunder."

He picked her up with gentle hands, cradling her fragile body reassuringly, although he might have been the one drawing the most comfort. Her tiny frame trembled in his hands. "I won't let anything hurt you," he promised. He may have been a lousy knight, but he would protect what was important to him.

She quacked softly, her head turning toward the door. Then she fluttered her wings, fearlessly going forward.

"Is someone out there?" he asked, trying to keep his heart in place. He didn't hear any rain, and there was no flashes of lightning.

He opened the door for Ahiru and walked out behind her. It wasn't raining, but the wind was rustling in the trees. Fakir found himself a bit spooked.

A figure came out of the darkness. Ahiru quacked at it, flapping her wings in nervous excitement. Fakir stared. It looked like Ahiru, in her lost girl-form, was walking towards him. Then she came out of the darkness and Fakir saw a rather bedraggled looking girl wearing a cloak and a boy's school uniform. _Perhaps I _am _peculiar if I'm seeing things now,_ he thought to himself. The girl had pink hair. Her eyes flickered between him and Ahiru before she smiled.

"Hello," she said, "I think I'm lost."

* * *

The girl was named Tenjou Utena, and Fakir felt like he should know her. There was something familiar in her face, though he would swear on Ahiru's life that they'd never met before. 

Utena sat at his table, cradling a cup of tea in her hands. She was explaining how she'd come to be in Kinkan town, and he listened closely, hoping for a clue. She was pretty, in a tomboyish sort of way, but Fakir felt no attraction to her. Instead, he wanted to protect her in the same way he'd served Mytho. Since he hadn't had that urge since the story had ended, he was on guard and suspicious.

"I was trying to head south towards the coast, but I got lost and ended up in a forest. When I managed to find my way out of it, I found myself deeper into the continent instead." She took a sip of her tea. "I never heard of Kinkan before, but at least it's not the forest!" She laughed.

Ahiru seemed to be listening intensely as well. "What are you doing on the road, anyway?" he asked, feeling uneasy.

Utena's eyes turned sad. "I'm looking for friend," she said. "A girl with a soft smile."

"What's her name?" he asked.

Utena pressed the tips of her fingers against her forehead, squinting a bit. "I... I can't remember," she said softly. "My head feels like someone threw all my thoughts into a blender and hit puree."

For a second, he wanted to throw her out. There was something strange about this girl, and he'd dealt with all the strange he ever wanted to. She wasn't an enemy - he knew that instinctively - but she would drag him back into a world he thought finished.

Ahiru quacked softly, waddling across the table to stand in front of Utena. Utena smiled at the duck, touching Ahiru's back with a gentle hand. "I'll know her when I see her," she said. "She's waiting for me, somewhere."

"Great, you'll know her when you see her," he repeated sarcastically, "I'm surprised you remember _your_ name."

Utena said nothing, but just looked at him. Ahiru seemed to be on her side and quacked at him loudly. Fakir finally looked away and shrugged. He didn't want any part of anyone else's strangeness. Or their quests, for that matter.

Fakir wanted to live in his house with Ahiru. He wanted to buy sunflower bread from Mika in town. He wanted to talk to Aotoa after classes and be laughed at for hanging around with a duck. He wanted a _normal_ life.

Utena offered him a smile. "I'm lucky, aren't I?" The words were tinted with irony, but her face was more amused than frustrated.

Fakir sighed, knowing he was going to regret what he was about to offer. "You can stay here for a bit," he said. "I've got a spare futon, and you can share Ahiru's room, providing she's okay with that." He turned toward Ahiru, and received a confirming nod. The little duck seemed to approve of the idea.

Utena didn't laugh at the idea of staying with a duck. "I appreciate your help," she said instead. "Thank you, Ahiru-chan." Her smile was warm as she addressed Ahiru directly and with sincerity.

Fakir's breath caught. For a second, he thought he saw Mytho's face superimposed on hers.

* * *

The next morning dawned bright and clear. Fakir woke up and swung out of bed. Without really thinking about it, he begun his series of morning stretches. The day of a ballet student was a long one and it was important to start it off limber. He had never really liked mornings, but he had been getting up early for so long that had became a habit. And he had slept well last night: no troubling dreams, no waking up at the slightest noise. 

Fakir finished stretching, shook his body out and went to prepare breakfast. Last night's fears and suspicions seemed a lot more manageable in the morning light.

He heard the sound of footsteps, too heavy to be anything but human, and turned to see Utena standing in the doorway. She was dressed in one of his old shirts, which came to the middle of her thighs. He was reminded of Mytho's habit of sleeping in similar clothes, the whiteness enhancing fair skin. She was pretty, he thought with surprise. He hadn't realized that the night before.

She was too tired to notice him ogling her, which was a blessing. Instead, she tripped her way to the table, sleep blurring her eyes. One piece of her hair was practically standing on-end from having been slept on wrong. It looked cute.

"Good morning," he said, crossing over to the kitchen counter and checking the breadbox for when Ahiru woke up.

"Morning," she mumbled back. She yawned loudly, cracking her jaw before dropping her face in her hands and leaning forward on the table.

"What do you want for breakfast?" he asked. It would be easy enough to make two of whatever she wanted; he wasn't a picky eater, having spent much of his childhood trying to find food that would get a reaction out of Mytho.

"Coffee. Please."

"Just coffee?"

She grunted, and he decided that making pancakes wouldn't hurt, since he wasn't about to skip breakfast. Apparently Utena was one of those people that didn't function without an infusion of caffeine. Hopefully the smell of food would perk her interest; aside from the tea, she hadn't had anything to eat in over 12 hours.

He carefully measured out a couple scoops of coffee beans into the machine, filled it with water, and hit brew. Then he dug out a packet of pancake mix, smiling as Ahiru fluttered onto the nearby counter top. He'd given up eating eggs since coming to know her; it would have approached cannibalism.

Ahiru pecked the pancake mix and looked up at him hopefully. "If you're good, I'll save some for you," he teased. She quacked back at him, communicating her feelings about people who would even think of withholding _pancakes._ "Okay, okay, pancakes for you, too."

Soon the sounds of coffee gurgling and pancakes sizzling filled his kitchen. He flipped the pancakes easily and quickly had a small stack piling up on the plate. He snared two for himself and one for Ahiru, bringing the rest to the table. The coffee had gotten to the occasional drips stage, so he poured two cups of that as well. Placing one of them in front of Utena, he watched as she fumbled for something resembling a death-grip on the mug. She drank about half of it before he even sat down, and sighed blissfully.

"Where's your girlfriend?" she asked. "A man who makes coffee like that has to have a girlfriend."

He glanced at Ahiru nervously. She was merely his friend now, but once she had been the girl he loved. The idea of finding someone else was abhorrent, but he knew that he probably would someday. He wondered if Utena was hitting on him; she hadn't seemed the type. Checking her face, he decided she was issuing a strange sort of complement.

"No girlfriend," he said, before patting Ahiru reassuringly. He wouldn't leave her; he had given his word.

"What a waste." She sipped again, her eyes brightening with alertness. "Are you going to school?" she asked, nodding to his white and blue uniform.

Fakir nodded. "I'm a ballet student at Kinkan Academy. It's in the middle of town." He gestured in the vague direction of the school.

"A dancer, huh?" Utena said. "I - one of the images in my mixed-up head is of someone in white, dancing in a ballroom," she added, tapping on her head with her hand. "It probably wasn't ballet though."

Fakir was beginning to like talking to Utena. It was very easy to fall into a rhythm with her - maybe too easy, he thought, remembering his suspicions last night. His eyes fall on Ahiru, resolutely munching on her pancake. He had her, and Aota if he really wanted someone to talk to. Utena was just passing though.

"Let me see your foot," he said.

She looked at him quizzically, before standing and coming around so she was in it. She held her foot up, and he studied it, ignoring the way the shirt rose against her thigh.

"Definitely not a ballerina," he declared. Her legs were well-muscled, so she was probably an athlete, but the toes didn't have the heavy calluses or broken toenails that marked ballet dancers. She was a little too sturdily, he thought, as he looked at her. "Probably into some sports," he conceded.

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I wonder what, though?" she asked, before ruffling her hair in agitation. "This is so frustrating!"

Ahiru quacked sympathetically, then mimed swimming around in the lake. Fakir laughed and translated: "Ahiru thinks that you swam."

Utena looked at the duck and smiled. "It's a thought, Ahiru-chan." Ahiru hopped up and down on the table, looking very pleased with herself.

Fakir pushed the remaining pancakes towards her. "Here, eat. It'll take your mind off it."

"Oh, that smells good. Thanks."

For a short while, the kitchen was filled with sounds of people -and ducks - eating. Then Utena asked, swallowing her last piece of pancake, "Do you suppose I could come into town with you? I could look around school grounds, see if anything else sparks a memory. After all, I wore that uniform when I first found myself outside, so I probably was a student."

He couldn't see the harm in it, although he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up at the idea of her wandering around unsupervised. His instincts warned him it was a bad idea, but there was no excuse not to fulfill her reasonable request.

"I suppose, but I don't have anything for you to wear. I mean, I don't keep girl's clothes around here or anything." He did have Ahiru's old uniform tucked away, but he could see Utena was far too large for it. Even if it would have fit, he didn't think he could bear to offer it, although Ahiru would have welcomed sharing.

"Boy's clothes are fine," she replied. "If you can loan me a pair of pants, I can just tuck this shirt in."

Mytho's old clothing would fit her, he thought. "I have a spare uniform you can borrow."

"That would be awesome." She picked up her coffee cup and drained it. "You're very kind."

They walked down the road together, Ahiru waddling alongside. Mytho's old uniform fit her well, thought Fakir. It accentuated her hips and made her legs look even longer. Though it was a bit tight across the chest.

"Have you studied ballet long?" she asked him.

"Since I was little," he replied. "I've always loved it."

"It's funny, but when I first saw your house, I thought you were a writer. All those papers lying around..."

"It's just hobby. Ballet is my passion," he told her. Best to keep to simple truths. He wanted nothing to disturb his world... anymore that it had already been.

"I think we can have more than one passion," she said. "I... think I like to do a lot of things." Less surety in her voice this time.

"You'll remember," he said. Ahiru nodded in agreement, and Fakir smiled down at the little duck. There was a pool close to school she spent most of her day at, waiting for him to complete classes. They always had lunch together.

"I hope so," Utena said, biting her lip. Then she shook her head, and a smile decorated her face. "Any ideas where I should start?"

"The library. There's a guy named Aotoa there, and if he doesn't have a clue, no one will."

"Okay, that sounds like a plan." She sounded a bit more cheerful.

"It's good to have goals." _My goal is to get though the day without anything else strange happening, _he thought wryly. "I'll take you by the library once we get to the Academy. It's on the way to my morning class."

She nodded. "Thanks, I appreciate that."

They were coming up on the main part of town now. Ahiru moved closer to him. Fakir knew she was worried about being stepped on by other students heading to class. He bent down and held out his hands. She hoped nimbly onto them and settled on the crook of his arm as he held her close to his chest.

"Is the view better up there?" Utena asked her. She got a happy quack in response.

The feeling of almost-strangeness that had been assaulting him crystallized. He had been pleased Utena had been so polite to Ahiru, but it was odd. Most people wouldn't treat a duck like a thinking creature.

"You're very kind to her," he said softly.

"Why shouldn't I be?" Utena asked in confusion. "A friend..." her brow furrowed as she tried to sort out her thoughts, "I've always liked animals. Sometimes they appear smarter than we are."

"They probably are," he said. As if on cue, a cat wandered by, turning a curious head toward them.

Fakir nodded acknowledgment to Neko-sensei. It was strange, seeing an animal who'd formerly been his teacher, staring up at him with blank eyes. Ahiru had retained her intelligence and memories, but the others that had been caught up in the story hadn't been as lucky.

They had reached the entrance to the school grounds. Kinkan Academy was laid out before them, its long boulevard sloping down toward the courtyard. Fakir glanced over at Utena, dressed in Mytho's uniform. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of the school.

Fakir was reminded of the first time he and Mytho had walked to school. He smiled. He'd been so excited, pulling Mytho along with him. When Mytho had hesitated at the entrance, he had said, "Don't worry, I'll protect you."

"Don't worry; if you need anything, I'll help," he offered. She was not Mytho, but she was evoking the same feelings his prince had commanded.

"It's so pretty, so much like..." she paused as she searched her scrambled memories. "I think I went to a school like this." Her hand touched the gate, running slender fingers along the stone.

"Your uniform was certainly of high quality." He had noticed that; he had always been a detailed-oriented person. It wasn't a traditional uniform, but the design and cut had been expensive. He wished he had been able to tell what school it came from.

"Which way is the library?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Toward your right. Aotoa doesn't have classes until this afternoon, so you should be able to find him easily. Look for a guy wearing glasses and a smug expression."

She laughed. "Smug. Glasses. Got it." He watched she strode off towards the library. She had such confidence for someone lost in the world, without even her memories to guide her. He couldn't help but admire it.

"What do you think of her, Ahiru?" he asked rhetorically, looking down at the duck.

_She's nice! But a bit mysterious..._

Fakir frowned. That voice had sounded just like Ahiru had, when she was girl. But Ahiru was still quacking happily away in his arms. He sighed. It was only wishful thinking.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Two Archetypes in Search of a Story**

A Revolutionary Girl Utena/Princess Tutu crossover

_By aishuu and ekaterinn_

* * *

The next morning dawned bright and clear. Fakir woke up and swung out of bed. Without really thinking about it, he begun his series of morning stretches. The day of a ballet student was a long one and it was important to start it off limber. He had never really liked mornings, but he had been getting up early for so long that had became a habit. And he had slept well last night: no troubling dreams, no waking up at the slightest noise.

Fakir finished stretching, shook his body out and went to prepare breakfast. Last night's fears and suspicions seemed a lot more manageable in the morning light.

He heard the sound of footsteps, too heavy to be anything but human, and turned to see Utena standing in the doorway. She was dressed in one of his old shirts, which came to the middle of her thighs. He was reminded of Mytho's habit of sleeping in similar clothes, the whiteness enhancing fair skin. She was pretty, he thought with surprise. He hadn't realized that the night before.

She was too tired to notice him ogling her, which was a blessing. Instead, she tripped her way to the table, sleep blurring her eyes. One piece of her hair was practically standing on-end from having been slept on wrong. It looked cute.

"Good morning," he said, crossing over to the kitchen counter and checking the breadbox for when Ahiru woke up.

"Morning," she mumbled back. She yawned loudly, cracking her jaw before dropping her face in her hands and leaning forward on the table.

"What do you want for breakfast?" he asked. It would be easy enough to make two of whatever she wanted; he wasn't a picky eater, having spent much of his childhood trying to find food that would get a reaction out of Mytho.

"Coffee. Please."

"Just coffee?"

She grunted, and he decided that making pancakes wouldn't hurt, since he wasn't about to skip breakfast. Apparently Utena was one of those people that didn't function without an infusion of caffeine. Hopefully the smell of food would perk her interest; aside from the tea, she hadn't had anything to eat in over 12 hours.

He carefully measured out a couple scoops of coffee beans into the machine, filled it with water, and hit brew. Then he dug out a packet of pancake mix, smiling as Ahiru fluttered onto the nearby counter top. He'd given up eating eggs since coming to know her; it would have approached cannibalism.

Ahiru pecked the pancake mix and looked up at him hopefully. "If you're good, I'll save some for you," he teased. She quacked back at him, communicating her feelings about people who would even think of withholding _pancakes._ "Okay, okay, pancakes for you, too."

Soon the sounds of coffee gurgling and pancakes sizzling filled his kitchen. He flipped the pancakes easily and quickly had a small stack piling up on the plate. He snared two for himself and one for Ahiru, bringing the rest to the table. The coffee had gotten to the occasional drips stage, so he poured two cups of that as well. Placing one of them in front of Utena, he watched as she fumbled for something resembling a death-grip on the mug. She drank about half of it before he even sat down, and sighed blissfully.

"Where's your girlfriend?" she asked. "A man who makes coffee like that has to have a girlfriend."

He glanced at Ahiru nervously. She was merely his friend now, but once she had been the girl he loved. The idea of finding someone else was abhorrent, but he knew that he probably would someday. He wondered if Utena was hitting on him; she hadn't seemed the type. Checking her face, he decided she was issuing a strange sort of complement.

"No girlfriend," he said, before patting Ahiru reassuringly. He wouldn't leave her; he had given his word.

"What a waste." She sipped again, her eyes brightening with alertness. "Are you going to school?" she asked, nodding to his white and blue uniform.

Fakir nodded. "I'm a ballet student at Kinkan Academy. It's in the middle of town." He gestured in the vague direction of the school.

"A dancer, huh?" Utena said. "I - one of the images in my mixed-up head is of someone in white, dancing in a ballroom," she added, tapping on her head with her hand. "It probably wasn't ballet though."

Fakir was beginning to like talking to Utena. It was very easy to fall into a rhythm with her - maybe too easy, he thought, remembering his suspicions last night. His eyes fall on Ahiru, resolutely munching on her pancake. He had her, and Aotoa if he really wanted someone to talk to. Utena was just passing though.

"Let me see your foot," he said.

She looked at him quizzically, before standing and coming around so she was in it. She held her foot up, and he studied it, ignoring the way the shirt rose against her thigh.

"Definitely not a ballerina," he declared. Her legs were well-muscled, so she was probably an athlete, but the toes didn't have the heavy calluses or broken toenails that marked ballet dancers. She was a little too sturdy, he thought, as he looked at her. "Probably into some sports," he conceded.

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I wonder what, though?" she asked, before ruffling her hair in agitation. "This is so frustrating!"

Ahiru quacked sympathetically, then mimed swimming around in the lake. Fakir laughed and translated: "Ahiru thinks that you swam."

Utena looked at the duck and smiled. "It's a thought, Ahiru-chan." Ahiru hopped up and down on the table, looking very pleased with herself.

Fakir pushed the remaining pancakes towards her. "Here, eat. It'll take your mind off it."

"Oh, that smells good. Thanks."

For a short while, the kitchen was filled with sounds of people -and one duck - eating. Then Utena asked, swallowing her last piece of pancake, "Do you suppose I could come into town with you? I could look around school grounds, see if anything else sparks a memory. After all, I wore that uniform when I first found myself outside, so I probably was a student."

He couldn't see the harm in it, although he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up at the idea of her wandering around unsupervised. His instincts warned him it was a bad idea, but there was no excuse not to fulfill her reasonable request.

"I suppose, but I don't have anything for you to wear. I mean, I don't keep girl's clothes around here or anything." He did have Ahiru's old uniform tucked away, but he could see Utena was far too large for it. Even if it would have fit, he didn't think he could bear to offer it, although Ahiru would have welcomed sharing.

"Boy's clothes are fine," she replied. "If you can loan me a pair of pants, I can just tuck this shirt in."

Mytho's old clothing would fit her, he thought. "I have a spare uniform you can borrow."

"That would be awesome." She picked up her coffee cup and drained it. "You're very kind."

They walked down the road together, Ahiru waddling alongside. Mytho's old uniform fit her well, thought Fakir. It accentuated her hips and made her legs look even longer. Though it was a bit tight across the chest.

"Have you studied ballet long?" she asked him.

"Since I was little," he replied. "I've always loved it."

"It's funny, but when I first saw your house, I thought you were a writer. All those papers lying around..."

"It's just hobby. Ballet is my passion," he told her. Best to keep to simple truths. He wanted nothing to disturb his world... anymore that it had already been.

"I think we can have more than one passion," she said. "I... think I like to do a lot of things." Less surety in her voice this time.

"You'll remember," he said. Ahiru nodded in agreement, and Fakir smiled down at the little duck. There was a pool close to school she spent most of her day at, waiting for him to complete classes. They always had lunch together.

"I hope so," Utena said, biting her lip. Then she shook her head, and a smile decorated her face. "Any ideas where I should start?"

"The library. There's a guy named Aotoa there, and if he doesn't have a clue, no one will."

"Okay, that sounds like a plan." She sounded a bit more cheerful.

"It's good to have goals." _My goal is to get though the day without anything else strange happening, _he thought wryly. "I'll take you by the library once we get to the Academy. It's on the way to my morning class."

She nodded. "Thanks, I appreciate that."

They were coming up on the main part of town now. Ahiru moved closer to him. Fakir knew she was worried about being stepped on by other students heading to class. He bent down and held out his hands. She hoped nimbly onto them and settled on the crook of his arm as he held her close to his chest.

"Is the view better up there?" Utena asked her. She got a happy quack in response.

The feeling of almost-strangeness that had been assaulting him crystallized. He had been pleased Utena had been so polite to Ahiru, but it was odd. Most people wouldn't treat a duck like a thinking creature.

"You're very kind to her," he said softly.

"Why shouldn't I be?" Utena asked in confusion. "A friend..." her brow furrowed as she tried to sort out her thoughts, "I've always liked animals. Sometimes they appear smarter than we are."

"They probably are," he said. As if on cue, a cat wandered by, turning a curious head toward them.

Fakir nodded acknowledgment to Neko-sensei. It was strange, seeing an animal who'd formerly been his teacher, staring up at him with blank eyes. Ahiru had retained her intelligence and memories, but the others that had been caught up in the story hadn't been as lucky.

They had reached the entrance to the school grounds. Kinkan Academy was laid out before them, its long boulevard sloping down toward the courtyard. Fakir glanced over at Utena, dressed in Mytho's uniform. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of the school.

Fakir was reminded of the first time he and Mytho had walked to school. He smiled. He'd been so excited, pulling Mytho along with him. When Mytho had hesitated at the entrance, he had said, "Don't worry, I'll protect you."

"Don't worry; if you need anything, I'll help," he offered. She was not Mytho, but she was evoking the same feelings his prince had commanded.

"It's so pretty, so much like..." she paused as she searched her scrambled memories. "I think I went to a school like this." Her hand touched the gate, running slender fingers along the stone.

"Your uniform was certainly of high quality." He had noticed that; he had always been a detailed-oriented person. It wasn't a traditional uniform, but the design and cut had been expensive. He wished he had been able to tell what school it came from.

"Which way is the library?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Toward your right. Aotoa doesn't have classes until this afternoon, so you should be able to find him easily. Look for a guy wearing glasses and a smug expression."

She laughed. "Smug. Glasses. Got it." He watched she strode off towards the library. She had such confidence for someone lost in the world, without even her memories to guide her. He couldn't help but admire it.

"What do you think of her, Ahiru?" he asked rhetorically, looking down at the duck.

_She's nice! But a bit mysterious..._

Fakir frowned. That voice had sounded just like Ahiru had, when she was girl. But Ahiru was still quacking happily away in his arms. He sighed. It was only wishful thinking.

* * *

Practice was challenging; it always was. Since Mytho had left, Fakir had become the uncontested male star of the school. He hadn't found a partner yet, not one he wanted to stay with, so he had gotten used to the rotating faces of breathless young girls who wanted to make him theirs.

His teacher, Bruhn-sensei, always pushed him the hardest. Fakir wasn't a particularly graceful dancer, relying on his power and energy to carry a performance. He was good, very good, but he had yet to reach perfection.

The girl he was dancing with today was his age, and one of his more frequent partners. She was ambitious, but they lacked chemistry together.

He could feel the power in how they danced, pushing each other to new technical, if not emotional, heights. As always, it felt good to get things right, to turn with a precise amount of speed, to lift his partner just so.

But Fakir couldn't help comparing it with the dance he shared with Ahiru. The passion they had shared, underwater. It was a lifetime ago, and he had sworn to keep it that way. But he couldn't seem to keep from returning to the memory. Not today.

Bruhn-sensei noticed his distraction, watching with narrowed, disapproving eyes. As soon as the music came to a close, he was in Fakir's face, invading Fakir's personal space without hesitation.

"And what was that, Fakir-kun?" he asked, his voice deceptively mild. There were times he reminded Fakir of Neko-sensei, but today was not one of those days.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"A dancer cannot afford to devote anything less than his complete concentration on what they're doing. I see potential in you, but your head is off in the clouds." He waved a dismissing hand at the girl who had been Fakir's partner. "You're going to practice this piece until I'm satisfied."

"Yes, sir," Fakir agreed quietly. Inwardly, he groaned. This would make him late for lunch with Ahiru. And what of Utena, wandering around with only Aotoa to guide her?

Of course, this wasn't the first time that had happened. Bruhn-sensei had called him on his lack of focus before. To be truthful, Fakir was finding it hard to concentrate on school nowadays. Ballet still held the allure it had when he was younger, but it was no longer the most important thing in his life.

He'd have to try harder. When Bruhn-sensei nodded, he threw himself into the dance.

* * *

Usually Fakir brought his lunch to avoid quarrels over which girl would give him a special, made-with-love meal. He liked to eat it by the pond where Ahiru spent her days, sharing bread and his thoughts. She was a good listener.

Today, the confusion of Utena's presence had distracted him in the morning. He'd would have to venture to the cafeteria to his meal, never his favorite thing. There were always people watching him.

He realized, belatedly, that Utena probably didn't have anything to eat, either. He wondered how she'd spent her morning, particularly if she met Aotoa. That would have been something he'd pay to see - he sensed that she wasn't going to take any crap.

As if summoned by his thoughts, he saw Utena come stomping out of the library. Her arms were held tightly to her sides. Her hands were clenched into fists.

Fakir wondered if he should fear for Aotoa's safety. As she saw him and drew nearer, he noticed that her mouth was set in a hard, thin line. Then he switched to wondering to where she hid the body.

He needed to go find Ahiru. But he had to ask first. "Ah...how did it go?"

If looks could kill, he would have fallen over twitching after Utena leveled a thoroughly-not-amused gaze on him. Then she shook her head, took a deep breath and relaxed her shoulders. "Is it really possible to be such a natural bastard, or do you think Aotoa works on it?"

He covered his mouth with a hand to smother the chuckles that wanted to escape. It would not be a very wise move on his part. "I think it's natural talent," he said after a deep breath of his own. "Are you hungry? We can go and sit somewhere and talk."

She nodded, and he motioned for her to follow. "We'll go pick something up at the cafeteria, then we can join Ahiru for lunch."

The cafeteria was a cacophony of shouting, laughter and clinking silverware. Other students pressed against them, making Fakir tense. He decided that speed was the better part of valor, making a run for the deli counter. "Sandwiches okay?" he shouted to Utena.

"Sure," she yelled back, looking bemused at the odd looks she was getting. Kinkan Academy was a large school, but a close-knit one. People were obviously wondering where the pink-haired girl - wearing a boy's uniform, no less - had come from.

The line for food was an imaginary thing - it seemed like the staff had decided it would be good endurance training to have the students fight for their lunches. Fakir had once heard that football players took ballet; it also seemed that ballet dancers were learning the rudiments of football.

Fakir was particularly good at the game, able to weave his way through the crowd with grace. A shoulder to a taller boy from the arts division, avoiding what would have been a devastating kick from a music major... and then he was at the front of the line, grabbing what he wanted.

He could feel Utena's eyes on him as he returned, clutching five sandwiches. "Looks like ham and tuna," he said. "Hope that works for you."

"That's fine," she replied. "I'm still not remembering much, but I don't think I had any particular aversion to ham or tuna."

He laughed a little at that, and led her down the path to Ahiru's pond. Ahiru herself met them halfway up it, quacking and flapping. "Are you scolding me because we're late?" he asked. He saw Utena hide a smile behind her hand. Ahiru pulled a duck face. She ran a bit in front of them, as if to tell them to hurry up.

The pond was on the side of campus, with trees nearby. It was really more ornamental than anything, but Ahiru seemed to enjoy spending time there. They settled down on the soft grass, and he peeled his crusts away, offering them to Ahiru, who accepted them eagerly.

"Would she like mine as well?" Utena asked, stretching out her slender legs in front of her.

"She'd love them. Sometimes I think she's a pig with wings." Ahiru glared at him and lifted her head with affronted dignity before returning to her lunch. "Aside from being a bastard, was Aotoa able to help you?"

"No," an unexpected voice said from behind them. Fakir cursed under his breath, wheeling around to glare at his distant cousin.

Aotoa was holding a lunch box, looking down at the pair with a neutral expression. "Can I join you?" he asked.

Fakir blinked. "Of course I don't mind," he said after he recovered. Ahiru chirped, chiming with her consent. "That is, if..." He glanced at Utena.

She shrugged one shoulder. "It's a free country," she said, though the arch of her eyebrows might have suggested otherwise.

Aotoa nodded and sat down. He was uncharacteristically quiet as he ate. His occasional glances towards Utena seemed to be at once thoughtful and wary. As if, Fakir thought, amused, she was a puzzle to be solved - or a bomb about to explode.

Utena seemed content with her ham sandwich, although she gave Aotoa a few less-than-friendly looks. She ate neatly, scattering no crumbs, and Fakir found himself staring at her. Her pink hair reminded him of Ahiru, although the shade was quite different. There was no delicacy in her, he reflected, but Fakir had never liked dainty girls. He preferred them to be strong, and Utena was certainly that.

"What? Do I have mayo on my face?" she asked, rubbing her lips half-heartedly.

He actually blushed a bit, not wanting to confess his thoughts. "I was just wondering if you had any plans yet."

She allowed him to divert her, popping the last bit of her lunch into her mouth. "Not really. I tried the computers, but I couldn't find anything about myself. No records, no nothing." She clenched her fingers in frustration, and he noticed the rose-shaped ring on her fingers.

"Have you tried looking up that symbol on your ring?" he asked without thinking.

"Huh?" She looked at the ring as if this was the first time she noticed it. "No, I haven't."

"What ring?" Aotoa asked, breaking his silence. Utena held up her hand. The pink-and-silver ring glinted in the light. Fakir's breath caught. The same sick sense of inevitability he had felt when he first saw the prince's sword enveloped him now. Inside his head, a voice that sounded like Ahiru asked, _Another story?_

"This one," Utena said. "I don't remember where I got it from, but I think it stands for something." She drew her hand back, frowning as she studied the signet. "It was important."

"Rings represent eternity," Aotoa said. "Did a boyfriend give it to you?"

"A... boyfriend?" she echoed.

Fakir thought that sounded wrong. Utena wasn't the type of girl to be hung up on boys and dating. _Maybe it represents royalty,_ the Ahiru voice added. _Don't princes wear those kind of fancy things? _

He glanced at the duck, and saw Ahiru staring back at him. _I'm going crazy,_ he thought.

"Maybe it's a family seal," he offered instead.

Utena bit her lip. For a moment, she looked very young. "I...don't think I had very much family. I kinda remember...coffins."

"Coffins?" echoed Aotoa.

Utena shrugged. "It's just an image. But a strong one."

Fakir looked at Ahiru, but neither the duck or the voice in his head seemed to have anything to add to that. "Maybe we should try looking up the design in the records." he said, returning to the original subject.

"I can scan it and use a program to search for similar designs," Aotoa offered. "Can I borrow it?" He held out a hand.

Utena started to remove the ring, but paused, shaking her head. "No. I'm sorry, but I don't want to take it off."

Aotoa looked offended. His eyes stared intently at Utena, before he huffed a bit in frustration. "I'll return it," he said impatiently.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "But I get the feeling that I have to wear it, no matter what."

"Like a wedding ring?" Fakir suggested. Utena looked too young to be married, but he'd learned not to trust appearances.

"Maybe," Utena replied, rubbing the face of the ring absently, "I don't think I was married. But it feels like I made a promise."

"To who?" Fakir asked. He knew the question was probably pointless, but felt he had to ask it anyway. Like a character in a story, keeping the flow of the narrative going, he thought uneasily. He reached out to stroke Ahiru's head, reminding himself of what was still real.

Utena hesitated for a long moment. "I don't know," she said finally, but sounded unsure. Fakir's unease was displaced by speculation. Maybe she had remembered something...

Aota's voice broke into his thoughts. "If you can't take it off, could I take a rubbing of it then? I could still scan the design that way." He said, adding irritably. "You're not making it easy for me to help."

Utena lowered her head. "I'm sorry. I do appreciate your help, though. Do you have any paper?" she asked. She held out her hand, offering tacit permission for Aotoa's plan.

Aotoa managed to produce a clean, white sketch pad from what Fakir knew was an impeccably organized bag. He watch Aotoa placed Utena's hand on his knee before covering it with paper. "Hold it steady," he advised, before covering the ring with a corner of a sheet. Using a sharp number two pencil, he pressed down, getting a reverse image of the ring as he covered the paper with black lead.

Aotoa finished sketching and held the paper up to his eyes, scrutinizing it. "That'll do," he said, more to himself than to the others.

Utena stood up and stretched, looking even more restless now that Aotoa had taken the rubbing. "What now?" she asked.

"I have afternoon classes -" Fakir began, but was distracted by Ahiru chirping at him.

_Maybe she'll like to come along, _said the Ahiru voice in his head at same time.

He hesitated, but finally gave up and asked tentatively in his head, _Ahiru?,_ still wondering if he was going crazy.

The duck quacked in surprise, fluttering her wings in agitation as she moved to press a the tips of her feathers against his knee. _You can hear me? You can hear me? _said the voice, panicked and excited at the same time.

He nodded slowly, not wanting to draw attention. _Ahiru, quack twice if you hear me._ He wasn't sure if he wanted this to be real; a duck shouldn't be able to speak, but he had missed her voice so much...

On cue, Ahiru quacked twice, her eyes blue and huge before she launched herself, hopping awkwardly so she could land on his knee. _Fakir, it's me!_

He automatically cupped his hands around her so she wouldn't fall. Her feathers were soft against his hands and he smiled. _Oh, Ahiru._

_I can talk to you! This is wonderful!_ Ahiru babbled in his mind. Fakir could almost feel the bubbles of joy rising underneath her words.

_It is, _he agreed. _But how is it possible?_

Ahiru blinked her eyes at him. _I don't know, _she said after a pause, _magic?  
_

His stomach sank as he realized that this miracle probably foretold something more sinister. Magic, from his experience, wasn't a thing of purity. It was a thing of darkness and desperation, and even the seemingly benign gift of Ahiru's voice would probably have to be paid for in blood.

He didn't realize how long he'd taken to speak to Ahiru, because suddenly a hand set itself down on his shoulder. He glanced over, startled, as he stared into Utena's blue eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said.

"Did something happen?" Utena asked reasonably.

He didn't want to tell her. It would sound insane to someone who hadn't lived under Drosselmeyer's rule.

"No," he said instead, "I was just lost in thought." He took a last bite out of his sandwich. "Actually, I need to get back to campus."

"More classes?" asked Utena.

"Rehearsal. I'm in the school's production of the Nutcracker this year." Even amidst current events, he felt proud at this accomplishment.

"That sounds interesting," Utena replied. "Mind if I come along and watch?"

_What about me? _Ahiru asked in his head. _Can I come, too? _

_You're a distraction,_ he told her. Then he realized that Utena was still waiting for his reply. "Um, no. That should be fine."

Aotoa, who was watching Fakir with distressingly knowing eyes, brushed his clothes off. "I'll stop by your house tonight and let you know if I found anything." He stared at Ahiru for a long moment. "And maybe we can talk."

Fakir glared at Aotoa. "Sure thing," he agreed, although he wasn't looking forward to it.

Utena ignored the byplay, instead rising to her feet. She began to stretch slowly, raising her hands to a clear blue sky. "When's your class start?" she asked.

Fakir looked at his watch and almost groaned. He only had ten minutes to change and make an appearance in the salle. "We'd better get going."

Utena nodded and waited for him to get up. Ahiru hopped up too, looking determinedly in his direction. He sighed. _You're coming along no matter what I say, right?_ he thought at her. Her head bopped up and down. He had to smile then, despite it all.

When he looked up, Aotoa was still watching them. At Fakir's glance, he looked away and started walking. Fakir bit his lip, but said nothing.

Instead, he nodded at Utena and they begun making their way up the path.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**Two Archetypes in Search of a Story**

A Revolutionary Girl Utena/Princess Tutu crossover

_By aishuu and ekaterinn_

* * *

Utena was perched neatly beside the accompanist, her legs crossed at her slender ankles as Ahiru sat in her lap. Both were quiet, watching with interest as Fakir stretched in preparation.

It hadn't taken too much convincing to get Bruhn-sensei to agree to let Utena watch. Fakir had made some claim about the girl being a distant relative, and then she had apologized for intruding. His mentor, usually a tyrant about how practices weren't meant to be observed by spectators, had nearly tripped over himself making sure Utena was comfortable. Utena had accepted his respect graciously, although Fakir gathered the impression that she had been slightly amused. Fakir was starting to wonder about how things just fell into place for her.

He didn't have a chance to wonder for long. From the look on Bruhn-sensei's face, Fakir figured it was going to be one of _those_ rehearsals.

He wasn't disappointed. Halfway through, he was dripping with sweat and very glad that Ahiru knew better than try to speak to him during practice. Fakir couldn't stop from turning and looking at her, though, every time Bruhn-sensei yelled at some other poor student. He found himself glancing at Utena, too. That pink hair was distracting.

Utena watched him with a curious expression. He could tell from her body language that she was more interested in the dance than his body, which was unusual. Most of the girls who watched fancied themselves in love with him, and completely missed the meaning of the dance.

This wasn't one of his favorites, but the Christmas season was approaching quickly and almost all ballet troupes put on a performance of _The Nutcracker._ This year he had the starring role, one that Mytho had filled in the past. Fakir was an entirely different kind of dancer, which required vast changes in the choreography of the performance.

He missed Mytho, missed the years they had spent together. Though Fakir knew that any personality that Mytho had seemed to have then had been projected onto him by Fakir himself, he still enjoyed the peace he found with the other boy and the flush of pleasure that came of successfully protecting him.

Mytho had been a technically brilliant dancer, and Fakir had learned a lot simply by watching him. He couldn't bring the same distant beauty to his own dancing and didn't try. Instead, he worked on being more athletic, jumping higher and spinning faster than anyone else.

Bruhn-sensei must have been satisfied with his efforts, for eventually he called a break. Fakir went to retrieve his water bottle, which Utena graciously held out for him. "You're very good," she said in an admiring voice. "You must work hard constantly."

"Less hard than you'd think, Tenjou-kun," an unwelcome voice said from behind Fakir. "There's times when Fakir-kun is less than devoted to his work. He hasn't committed himself completely to ballet, and it shows."

Fakir's back went rigid when he realized that Bruhn-sensei must have followed him. This was an argument they'd had many times. His teacher wanted him to give up writing, but he couldn't. He had the blood of Drosselmeyer in his veins. "I try to keep my interests balanced," he said stiffly.

Bruhn-sensei, though, wasn't paying attention to him. Instead he was looking at Utena with an evaluating eye. "Do you dance?" he asked.

Utena shook her head. "I don't think so," she said, holding her hands in front of her check in a protective gesture.

"Everyone dances!" Bruhn-sensei announced. "Dance is in everything we do!"

Utena smiled. "I can't dance like Fakir, though," she said.

"No one dances like anyone else," Bruhn-sensei said with a smile. Fakir was getting a sinking feeling in his stomach, but was unable to think of anything to say to derail the imminent disaster. "How about you try?"

Utena bit her lip, before shutting her eyes. When she opened them again, they were a steady and calm. "Sure," she agreed. "Fakir, can I borrow your sword?"

Fakir hesitated, but a glance over at Bruhn-sensei told him that refusing Utena's request wouldn't do any good. "Of course," he said instead and handed over the light foil, hilt-first, to her. The room seemed to go still for a second, as in a pivotal moment in a ballet. Even Ahiru was quiet in his head.

"Thank you," Utena said, accepting the foil with an ease that would have surprised him a few minutes ago. Now, he merely noted that her grip on the sword was perfect, as far from the too-tight handling of an amateur as was possible to get. It seemed to Fakir that the shadows in the room grew longer, though it was still afternoon.

Utena turned and faced the windows, raising the sword. "This is how I dance," she said and began to fence.

She was good, he recognized immediately. After a moment, he corrected himself. No, she was exceptional.

Utena moved with a direct grace that was unafraid to face confrontation. There was no music, but she didn't need any. There wasn't a particular pattern in the series of feints and lunges she was making, but Fakir could almost see her imaginary opponent. Her long pink hair flew around her body as she spun, leaped and parried, and the people in the room fell silent to watch her.

_She's beautiful, _he heard the Ahiru-voice inside of his head say. _She's as pretty as Mytho when he dances._

That feeling of uneasiness he'd felt since meeting her suddenly crystallized, and he had a name for it. "She's like a prince," he whispered aloud, too low for anyone except himself to hear it.

It was a ridiculous idea, that Utena was a prince. She was the wrong gender for one thing, but Fakir knew he was right. Utena had the beautiful heart and noble courage that marked a prince, that had defined Mytho. She was a natural leader, but it was her kindness that balanced it.

Now he knew why he'd been so drawn to her. _A knight needs a prince to serve,_ he thought.

It wasn't as chilling a thought as it should be, considering what had happened the last time he had gotten involved with a prince. Instead, it was sort of... comforting, as if the pieces that made up his life were quietly slotted back into place, moved by some invisible hand.

Fakir was unsettled to think that he should be feeling a lot more disturbed about this. Instinctively, he moved closer to Ahiru, though whether to protect her or himself, he couldn't have said.

_If she's a prince, what am I supposed to do?_ he thought.

_Can a girl be a prince?_ he heard Ahiru say, supplying another question instead of an answer.

Before meeting Utena, he would have said no. Even if a girl could be a heroine - _Ahiru in white, dancing beautifully with everything in her soul _- she was still a princess. A princess could be brave, but their main purpose was to love a prince.

But Utena was here, and there was no way she was a princess. That left only the other option, ridiculous as the truth was.

_Yes. Yes,_ he replied.

Ahiru was uncharacteristically quiet for several moments. _What do you want to do?_ she asked finally.

He wanted to protect Utena. He wanted to serve her. He wanted to offer her his sword and his life. But he also wanted her out, away from here, away from everybody he had learned to care about.

_I'm...not sure,_ Fakir told Ahiru, reaching down to scratch her head, comforting both her and himself.

Even though there was no music, he could tell that Utena's dance was about to climax. She tossed her sword from her right hand to her left, spinning sharply as she changed directions. He stared, enraptured, by the intensity of her spirit as she struck a final blow; not a killing one, since princes never killed if they didn't have to, but one which vanquished her imaginary opponent.

She stood in the center of the salle, poised and confident. For a long moment, no one reacted, but then the applause began to rise from onlookers.

Utena didn't move, but poised regally as the applause built and built, until it seemed to Fakir like the beat of ravens' wings. He was conscious of the air around him - it was strangely anticipatory, like the sky before a thunderstorm.

But just when it seemed that something had to happen, Utena dropped the foil. It clanged on the hardwood floor. Then she fell to the ground herself, and the spell was broken.

He went to her side quickly - _the way a knight was always ready to aid his liege _- kneeling down to check on her. To his relief, she was breathing evenly, but her eyes were shut. "Utena?" he said, shaking her shoulder gently.

She didn't respond, and he realized she was well and truly asleep. The dance had taken a lot out of her.

"What's wrong with her?" Bruhn-sensei asked, his deep voice filled with worry. "Should we get the school nurse?"

"No," Fakir said, shaking his head firmly. His hands reached down to lift Utena, and he was surprised how very light she was. "She was sick recently, and she just overdid it a little," he told his teacher, stretching the truth. "I'm going to take her home so she can get some rest."

Bruhn-sensei nodded in agreement. "That's a good idea. If I'd known..." he trailed off, shaking his head. "I would have asked her anyway," he said, a trace of chagrin on his face.

Fakir shifted Utena in his arms so she was lying more comfortably. "It'll be okay," he told Bruhn-sensei. "It was her choice to do this."

"Go on and take her home then," Bruhn-sensei said, "and when she wakes up, tell her that - that I enjoyed her dance greatly."

Fakir tilted his head slightly. "I will, sir."

_Utena will be all right, _Ahiru piped up, looking anxious. _She will, won't she?_

_She'll be fine, _he told her, _She's just asleep. _

At least he hoped so. He had to crush the smidgen of doubt into the back of his mind so Ahiru wouldn't find it.

He bent enough so Ahiru could find his shoulder more easily. She still wasn't that good at long-distance flights, although her flying had improved from when they'd first met. He didn't bother to change out of his practice clothes, deciding it would be better to just leave.

Fakir ignored the stares of the few stray students on campus, realizing with reluctance that they made a strange tableau. He moved through the town quickly as he dared, not fond of all the attention they were attracting.

Finally he arrived home, and carried Utena upstairs to his room. Setting her down on the bed, he spread a spare quilt over her. "It'd be best if she just rests," he said to Ahiru.

Ahiru made a suggestion, and he shook his head. "No, no... she'll be fine," he said hastily, knowing his face was flushed with embarrassment. He was still too shy to loosen Utena's clothing, even though Ahiru assured her it would help her breathe easier.

_Probably,_ Ahiru said slyly, tilting her head playfully.

Fakir let it pass, knowing it was an argument he couldn't win. "Can you watch her, let me know if something is wrong?" he asked the duck. He needed to clean up and change into something that wasn't soaked with sweat, but was reluctant to leave Utena alone.

Ahiru nodded, looking serious again. Fakir took some clean clothes from his closet and slipped away to the bathroom with one last backward glance at Utena.

In the shower, the water soothed his body. It did nothing for his mind though, and he kept remembering how Utena moved with the sword, like one accustomed to fighting, and how the clapping sounded like the beating of wings.

_We're running out of time,_ he thought grimly, suddenly sure of at least that fact. _Letting any part of this mystery remain unsolved will be unpleasant for everyone involved._

After he toweled himself dry and put on clean clothes, he went back to his room. "Any change?" he asked Ahiru quietly.

_She rolled over twice, _Ahiru said with precision, _but she didn't wake up._

"Maybe we should get a doctor," he said to himself. It wasn't natural for a healthy girl to collapse after a bit of exercise. Maybe he'd been overly hasty to maintain Utena's privacy; her secrets shouldn't outweigh her well-being, he thought. There was a mumble from the covers, and he jerked out of his thoughts. Utena hadn't moved, but he was certain he heard her say something. "Utena? You awake?" he asked.

"...no doctor," she said, shifting her head against the pillow although her eyes remained closed.

He hesitated, but said, "Okay."

She sighed a bit, in relief or gratitude.

"But do you know what's wrong? Is there anything else I can do to help?" It was frustrating, just standing here and watching her. Fakir would have given a great deal to be able to beat some answers out of some bad guy right then. _And since when has my life been neatly divided into good guys and bad guys, anyway?_

Utena stirred on the bed again. "No, you can't. Just...I think my body remembers. Maybe I just need time."

"Would you like something to eat? Maybe some water?" he asked after a mental prod from Ahiru. "You used up a lot of energy with your dance."

"I wasn't dancing," Utena murmured. "I was fighting."

"Fighting what?" he asked.

She was quiet, but then her eyes opened and she met his own gaze with a look that froze him on the inside. "Myself."

Before Fakir could respond to that, there was a loud knock on the front door. "Anybody home?" called the clear voice of Aotoa. "It's important!"

Fakir sighed. "I'll go let him in." Utena nodded, and he made his way out of the bedroom and to the door.

Opening it, he discovered Aotoa on the other side, his face flushed like he had been running. "What's so important?"

Aotoa pushed his way in past Fakir. "Is she still here?" he demanded.

Fakir folded his arm crossed his chest, annoyance with his cousin's rudeness mixed with a sense of dread. "She's been ill, she's resting upstairs."

"I know she was ill," Aotoa said testily. "The whole campus was buzzing about the scene you two - three - made walking across the campus. Haven't you ever heard of the concept of keeping a low profile?"

Fakir tried not to shudder. He'd realized that they'd been a spectacle, but hadn't considered that carrying the unconscious girl would raise awareness of Utena. Mentally he cursed himself for being a fool.

_It's not your fault, _the Ahiru voice in the back of his mind said soothingly. _ I didn't think of it, either._

"Is it going to be a problem?" Fakir asked coolly.

Aotoa grimaced. "It might be," he said.

The dread grew. "How so?"

"I think I should tell Utena herself first."

"She's barely awake. Besides, we're all involved in this now."

Aotoa looked exasperated, but gave in. "All right, all right. I ran a search on that ring. I didn't come up with anything particularly useful, but I did find out something else..."

Fakir made an impatient gesture. "Get on with it."

Aotoa drew a deep breath. "There was someone else looking for her. Somebody is looking for Utena, and I'm not sure that they have the best intentions."

He felt the urge to hurt someone, the one he'd thought he'd lost after Mytho had left. A knight knew violence, and his first reaction was to take up the sword in defense of his prince. The blood surged in his veins, and he could feel the adrenaline rush that preceded battle surging through his body.

"Fakir!" Aotoa yelled, and suddenly Fakir noticed how his cousin had backed away, and the frightened expression on his face. Looking down, he was astonished to see he'd somehow grabbed the sword he had hung on the mantelpiece. "Snap out of it!"

He forced himself to take a deep breath, to deny the urge to offer his loyalty to the prince. It was hard. It would be so easy to swear fealty to Utena, to fall into the role she needed him to fulfill. Playing a role was easier and less lonely than living as an ordinary man.

At the top of the stairs, Ahiru appeared. She hopped down several until she was standing on the one that kept her level with his eyes. Her beautiful blue eyes stared at him, and he felt some of his urgency drain away as he felt her love for him - and her fear.

_Even if she is a prince, _Ahiru said quietly, _are you sure you want to be_ her _knight? You already serve Mytho._

"Not anymore," he said allowed, ignoring Aotoa's shaken look. "Mytho gave up my service when he left."

Aotoa looked confused and still a bit scared. "Fakir?" he asked, glancing between him and Ahiru.

But Fakir continued to ignore him, watching Ahiru. Her head tilted to one side, making her look both quizzical and sad. _Then is that you miss being a knight so much,_ she said, somehow more softly than in her normal 'voice', _or is it that you miss Mytho? _

"I don't know," he said slowly. He shut his eyes and leaned back against the wall, hugging his arms around his torso. He hadn't thought much about Mytho once he left; it was like losing part of his arm.

He had spent ten years of his life serving his prince, only to let him go. They had both decided to live outside the story, but it was hard. The story had defined both of them, and learning who he really was wasn't easy. Now he had a chance to reclaim the role of knight in another story. He knew instinctively that Utena could use a knight.

And he could do that for her. The temptation was almost physical, thrumming in his head, _take the sword and go to her. _But could he really give up all he had painfully learned about himself? He opened his eyes and looked the Ahiru, still standing on the stairs, looking as worried as it was possible for a duck to look. And his actions didn't affect just himself anymore. He had to think about Ahiru, too.

"Not to interrupt your angst or anything," Aotoa's voice broke in, "but I think I'm missing something. Who exactly were you talking to?"

Fakir stiffened as he realized that Aotoa couldn't hear Ahiru. He had been foolish to forget that; he could only blame himself for getting so caught up in the drama.

Admitting it, though, might be a mistake. Sane people didn't hold conversations with ducks. But Aotoa would probably believe him, especially in light of what was happening. "Ahiru is talking to me," he said after deciding that honesty was the best policy.

Aotoa blinked. Fakir could read his reactions flitting across his face: surprise, doubt, and a finally a wary curiosity. "How?" he demanded, "And for how long? Is it something new or has this been going for a while?" He glanced back and forth between Fakir and Ahiru. "You're not just pulling my leg, are you?" He asked suspiciously, looking, oddly enough, at Ahiru for an answer, who shook her head.

"No, of course not," Fakir replied as well, irritated. "Would I joke about something like that?"

Aotoa pursed his lips. "It's true that you don't have much of a sense of humor."

"It seems to be hereditary," Fakir replied instead of taking offense.

"Fakir," Aotoa said sharply, irritated that answers weren't forthcoming.

Looking at Ahiru, he motioned for her to come down the stairs. The tiny duck hopped down each stair carefully, until she was in arm's reach of Fakir. _At least he believes you,_ she said in a consoling voice, _but I think he's upset._

Fakir noticed the tension in Aotoa's face, and decided he would humor the other man. "Only since Utena arrived," he confessed.

"The story's starting again," Aotoa said, nodding his head like he'd been expecting it. "The question is who's writing it. Drosselmeyer is dead."

"That didn't stop him last time," Fakir replied.

Aotoa looked uncertain, but said, "No, this doesn't feel like him. And Utena doesn't fit. This shouldn't be her story."

"But it's becoming so," Fakir said. Ahiru watched them both intently.

Aotoa nodded again, unhappily. "Which leads us back to the question of who."

"If this concerns me, then I have a right to know about it," Utena's clear voice came from above. All three of them turned towards the top of the staircase, where she was standing, pale and unsteady.

Fakir weighed what to tell her, and decided the truth would be best. To most outsiders, it would sound like an insane tale, but he had the feeling Utena wouldn't laugh. She needed to know exactly what she was getting into.

"We should sit," Fakir said, nodding toward the table. Utena gave him a suspicious look, but made her way down the stairs carefully. Fakir's knightly instincts called out for him to offer aid, but he knew Utena wouldn't like it.

Aotoa moved without comment, but Fakir waited for Utena to sit before claiming his own chair. Without even thinking about it, he bent down to offer Ahiru a hand up onto the table to ensure her inclusion. As soon as they were comfortable, Fakir spoke.

"Once upon a time, this town existed as part of someone else's story," Fakir said carefully. It was dangerous to speak tales aloud, because stories gained power when they were shared orally as well. "The people in the town changed to carry out the will of the storyteller, and few people realized that their fates were being woven by someone else."

Utena listened without comment, her intense eyes fixated on his face.

He told her about the _Prince and the Raven,_ and how the characters had left the unfinished tale. He told her about Drosselmeyer, and how the story had come to life within the village. He talked about Ahiru, relieved that his voice didn't break as he spoke about Princess Tutu and Princess Kraehe. He told his own story, about being a knight too weak to actually do anything useful, and then how he'd struggled to find a different way to fight.

He told about the bittersweet victory, of how Mytho had defeated the monster raven and chosen Rue as his princess. He spoke of Ahiru sacrificing her human shape, and how they'd been left behind as the story had finished.

"And Mytho and Rue lived happily ever after, and we just lived," Fakir concluded, hoping he didn't sound bitter. He didn't hate Mytho for leaving; he just thought that the story had been entirely unfair to its heroine.

_Why are you upset when I'm not?_ Ahiru wanted to know, but Fakir didn't – couldn't – reply. Aotoa, thankfully, didn't say anything, instead removing his glasses and polishing them.

Utena nibbled on a strand of her pink hair, her eyes distant. She didn't speak immediately, but when she did, she asked an obvious question. "Why are you telling me this?" Utena wanted to know.

Fakir looked at his cousin, and Aotoa nodded. "The story is moving again," Aotoa said. "Your presence has restarted the wheels which had stopped."

"You're a prince," Fakir said. Glancing over at Ahiru, he made his decision. "And I'm a knight. I would swear fealty to you," he said. "It is the natural order of things."

Utena waved her hands to forestall him. "I'm not much of a person to believe in roles," she said. "Even without my memory, I know better than to do what is expected of me."

_What is she talking about?_ Ahiru wondered.

Fakir just shook his head, unable to think of a coherent response. The sting of Utena's implied rejection hurt. "So you have no use for a powerless knight," he said, and wished he'd never offered. Now he was stuck with her, because he couldn't throw her out.

"No. I don't." She rose to her feet and wobbled over to kneel beside him. "But I could use a friend."

Fakir looked down into her eyes, and almost drowned in their blue sincerity. Once upon a time, there had been a youth that had only believed stories to be entertainment. There had been no archetypal role to follow, no foreordained destiny to strive against, and then eventually accept. Now here was another prince before him, telling him that all she wanted was his friendship.

His hands shook as he traced the line of her cheek with a reverent finger. "Are you trying to save me?" he asked.

She shook her head. "A prince isn't supposed to save those who have the power to rescue themselves," she told him, smiling a bit lopsidedly.

_She's a very wise prince_, Ahiru said. She fluttered her wings, and Fakir smiled at her. Then his hand fell to Utena's, and squeezed it gently. "Then as your friend, I would like to help you," he said. He could still feel the siren call of her presence, but it was no longer so overwhelming. He had been rejected, but in doing so, Utena had freed him of her spell. It felt like he could breathe again.

"I can always use friends," Utena replied. She rose back to her feet and retook her chair, still slightly unsteady. "So, my friend, do you happen to know where I came from?"

Fakir looked over at Aotoa, and his cousin took the hint. "We don't know where you came from, but someone is looking for you."

Utena's expression brightened. "Really?" she asked, leaning forward on her elbows in her eagerness. "Who? Where?"

Aotoa shook his head. "It's online, so I don't know where the person is. They could be across the world, for all it matters."

"Isn't there a way you can trace where their signal comes from? Like using a call number or something?" Utena asked. "I thought computers had some kind of identification."

Aotoa adjusted his glasses. "Maybe, maybe not." He slid a look at Fakir, before returning his attention to Utena. "I don't know if the person who is looking for you is someone you want to meet."

"Why?"

Aotoa reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper and handed it over wordlessly. Utena unfolded it carefully, her eyes quickly absorbing the words written within.

"Oh," she said softly, before handing it over to Fakir for his perusal.

The price tag attached to the missing person notice was impressive, Fakir thought. The picture was definitely of Utena, obviously a candid. She wasn't looking at the lens; in fact, she appeared unaware that the image was being taken. While there wasn't any outward signs that the note was meant in anything but concern, something about the harshness of the words demanding information on Tenjou Utena's location raised Fakir's internal alarms.

_That person doesn't seem like someone Utena would be friends with,_ Ahiru agreed.

"Did you trace the person who sent it?" Fakir asked his cousin.

"It was routed through several servers, and I couldn't hone in," Aotoa admitted reluctantly. "I'm not that good with computers."

"It's okay," Utena said, and she reached out to touch Aotoa's fingers with her left hand gently in reassurance. "This is more than I had before. This person might know who I am." Her right hand clenched in her lap. "I'm going to go find them, and maybe I can find out who I am."

"Utena, this person may not mean well," Fakir said. "Maybe it would be better-" but she held up a hand to forestall him.

"I think it will be okay – the writing just seems desperate, not mean. Even if the person does want to do something nefarious, I can't back away from this opportunity. A prince never runs from danger," Utena said, winking. "I'll be okay – I promise."

And since she was a prince, Fakir had to believe her. Princes couldn't break their word. "Be careful," he said. He hoped she was better at protecting herself than Mytho had been.

"Of course," she said. She rose to her feet. "I think I'll start on my way – I just need to change."

"But it's night! At least stay until the next morning," Fakir said.

She shook her head. "No. I need to go; from what you told me about this town, if I stay I'll just get sucked in. And I do know that this isn't a story I want to participate in. Mine's still out there, somewhere," she said. Then she looked at Ahiru and smiled again. "It's been nice getting to know you. If I ever get where I'm going, I'll give you a call."

Fakir knew that princes rarely reached the end of their tales, but wasn't about to point it out. "Let me get you some extra food and clothes," he said, rising to his feet.

Fifteen minutes later, Utena was dressed in her original outfit, which had been laundered. Fakir wordlessly handed her a pack filled with a few changes of clothing, along with enough food to keep her for a couple of days. To his surprise, Aotoa pulled out an envelope, and pushed into into Utena's hands.

"You'll need funds," Aotoa said. "If you need anything, I wrote my phone number on the back. I'll do what I can to help."

Fakir couldn't help but think she looked a bit like a fish as her mouth gapped for a second, before a grateful smile spread across her lips. "Thank you," she said, wisely not declining due to pride.

Then there was nothing else to do but say goodbye. Many girls would have offered Fakir a hug in thanks for all he had done, but Utena was not ordinary. She gave him a bow, inclining her body with respect. He found himself responding, lowering himself more deeply.

She grinned as she straightened, turning her attention to the duck. "Good luck, Ahiru-chan," Utena said, holding out her index finger to stroke Ahiru's downy head farewell.

Fakir hated long goodbyes, a feeling Utena apparently shared. She stepped out the door, and didn't look back as she vanished back into the forest.

Aotoa turned to his cousin. "That was interesting," he said blandly.

There were times when Fakir wanted to murder Aotoa, but his gesture of concern for Utena mitigated that impulse at the moment. "It was," he said, looking at Ahiru thoughtfully.

_Fakir?_ she said, and he was pleased that he could still hear her. Perhaps the magic Utena had inadvertently brought with her hadn't expired. Or maybe there was something else afoot.

"How do you feel about a journey of our own?" he asked the duck. "We could go on a quest," he replied. "To save the beautiful, enchanted princess."

Aotoa's breath hitched, but it was the tiny duck that had Fakir's full attention. She had resigned herself to this life, as an animal, but he knew a part of her longed to become a girl again.

_Sounds like fun!_ she said perkily, but there was a shakiness in her tone that her flippant words couldn't hide. The tips of her wings shivered in excitement, and Fakir knew that this was the right choice for them.

In many stories, a knight was also a prince. While Fakir didn't see himself as the heroic type, he wanted to be the man Ahiru needed, and maybe that was enough. There would be trials ahead, but he would prevail. He found their current life one of contentment, but not a true happily-ever-after. And Ahiru deserved better.

Utena's arrival had reminded him that there were still options out there, still powers that Fakir hadn't even dreamed existed. Surely the old storyteller wasn't the only one with the power to turn a duck into a girl.

Drosselmeyer's story was finished; it was time to write their own story.

* * *


	4. Epilogue: Evolving Archetypes

**Evolving Archetypes  
**

_by aishuu_

* * *

_...Now that is something I definitely wasn't expecting._

They spent over a year chasing leads that might result in a spell to change Ahiru back into a girl, but none panned out. Despite their multiple failures, Ahiru and Fakir's spirits remained high, because a Quest that was won easily wasn't likely to end in true happiness. It was only through sacrifice that a happily-ever-after could be purchased.

There were rumors that a Witch had recently moved into a town three days from where they had been staying, and Ahiru persuaded Fakir that it would be worth checking out. Fakir, always more cautious, worried that the Witch might not be a good one. But he had no better plans, so they set out.

When they arrived at the cottage, the first thing they were struck by was the overabundance of roses. Fakir paused at the door, noting the fantastic shades of flowers that curled up the walls of the quaint little home. It was beautiful and attractive, but Fakir was wise enough not to be lulled by appearances. However, this was part of their Quest, so he raised a fist to knock on the oaken door. A sweet, feminine voice bayed him wait a moment.

_This seems too easy,_ Ahiru thought at him, and he couldn't help but agree.

The woman who answered the door made him wonder if they had walked into a trap. She was one of the most lovely creatures he'd ever seen, with warm mocha-colored skin and silken lilac tresses falling to her knees. She brushed her hands off on her apron, tilting her head quizzically. "Can I help you?"

Fakir always felt silly broaching the subject of their Quest, since not everyone understood the world he and Ahiru lived in. On more than one occasion, he'd mistaken someone for an Archetype, and had been embarrassed by their freaked-out reactions.

But the threat of embarrassment was something a Knight would not be cowed by. A Knight only spoke the truth, directly and without fear of ridicule. "I was told there was a Witch living here," he said.

The woman shook her head. "I'm not a Witch anymore. I don't have any magic spells to offer you," she said softly.

From what Fakir had learned, an Archetype was an Archetype. Once an Archetype was created, it was impossible to destroy. An Archetype could be altered, but people never completely broke free of a story. He and Ahiru were good examples of that.

"Then what are you?" he asked.

"I am an Empowered Princess," the girl said, and her smile was full of happiness. "I make my own destiny."

Fakir had never heard of such a thing. By definition, a Princess was at the mercy of a higher power – Ahiru and Drosselmyer, Rue and the Raven. "A Princess who makes her own destiny?" he echoed.

"Stories are never static, Sir Knight," she replied. "Archetypes evolve with the times, and we can evolve with them. I choose to tell my own story, unwilling to yield to whatever society tells me is 'right.'"

_It sounds like a good thing to be,_ Ahiru said in his mind.

_But I don't see her Prince around her, do you?_ And a Princess could not exist without a Prince by her side. That was one of the reasons Princess Tutu had vanished.

_Maybe she's waiting for her Prince to come,_ Ahiru speculated. _Or maybe an Empowered Princess doesn't need to have a Prince._

He wondered quietly if Ahiru would be happier without a Prince, or a man who was trying to be her Knight. But instead of sharing that thought, he turned to the girl. "We apologize for bothering you, my lady," he said, dipping a slight bow.

"It's no trouble," she assured them, before her eyes fell slightly, in a fashion that could be considered almost shy. "If you want, I can offer you some advice. It's up to you to decide to follow it or not."

He looked at Ahiru. _Should we accept?_

_We did come seeking her. Maybe she is meant to serve as a Wisewoman for our story._

Despite his nervousness about dealing with this previously unheard of Archetype, he decided to follow Ahiru's wishes. "What advice would you give us?"

The girl reached down and plucked a rose from the bush next to the door, a pink rose that reminded him of someone, although he couldn't recall who. "I can tell you that the most powerful magic is one cast through love," the Empowered Princess said, holding out the flower to Fakir, who gingerly accepted it. "And that love should always be shared, not hoarded away from the world."

Her advice sounded trite, but as he held the sweetly-scented rose, he couldn't find it in himself to think she was being anything less than sincere. He tucked the flower away in his backpack, knowing instinctively that the bloom would survive far more than an ordinary rose could. Gifts given by Archetypes had a way of proving necessary later on.

"And how does an Empowered Princess share her love?" Fakir asked.

"By trusting in my Prince and helping out those people I can. Someday my Prince will come," the Empowered Princess said, "but until she does, I will work hard to be worthy of her."

There was nothing more to say to that, so Fakir and Ahiru offered their thanks before turning to leave. He bent over to scoop the tiny duck up in his hands, placing her on his head. Ahiru liked sitting there, claiming it was a comfortable nest.

It was only after Fakir left that he recognized that the Empowered Princess had spoken of a female Prince. And as far as he knew, Utena was the only female Prince there had ever been.

"Do you think she's the one Utena is seeking?" he asked.

_Should we go back and ask her?_ Ahiru wondered.

He thought on it for a long moment, before deciding it wouldn't be a good idea. A Quest was never advanced by backtracking. "No," he said. "We've already played our part in their story – we need to work on our own."

Ahiru fluttered her wings, before turning her head to the east. _Let's go seek the sun, then._


End file.
